Blessings, beautiful souls —
I am reading Italian Folk Magic [Rue’s Kitchen] as I’ve felt strangely called back into my ancestral heritage and reclaiming the magic within it. I come from two Italian parents (Piemontese father, Tuscan mother) and four Italian grandparents (Campania/Napoletano starts getting added to the mix). Within the book, I am encountering things that are very familiar to me. The ancestral photos on the bedroom dresser. The imagery of dedication to favourite saints. The framed photos of Jesus or Mary on hallway walls. There is a bit of nostalgia that arises as I read.
And yet, as I move forward in the text about home altars and wait for something within me to stir, as I read, “The belief is that this altar is a physical door or window to the spiritual world. It is the window where we seek out our saints and deities to request their help and is the door they use to enter our home and our lives,” and wait for something to Awaken or inspire, it doesn’t.
The altar – the idea of a home altar – doesn’t resonate with me.
This has surprised me more than I expected. I am curious about Italian folk magic, ancestral traditions, spirituality, the rituals of my heritage, and the ways our ancestors understood their relationship with the sacred. But the idea of creating an altar in my own home feels strangely disconnected from the way I experience spirituality now.
In 2015, an altar in my home was not something I turned away from. As I was uncovering my new spiritual identity, I felt it needed to be reflected externally, and I created an elaborate altar in my living room and on my desk in my office. It was a way to show the world just how dedicated I was to this internal life. I would sit in front of these altars and silence the world as I focused on these objects. I would use them as points of reference for spiritual concentration and reminders of my path.
But altars just don’t feel like that to me anymore, and even reading about how Italians make space for altars in their home doesn’t speak to me. There is a difference between recognizing something as part of your heritage and feeling called to make it part of your spiritual practice. Appreciation isn’t the same as resonance.
That’s not to say that I don’t have spiritual items in my home; I have many. I have a gallery wall full of icons. I have spiritual goodies all over my office desk. I have crystals scattered around the home, little statues in hidden corners, holy items in unexpected places. Rather than one dedicated space within my home, spirituality infuses every nook and cranny of it. My home is a temple – my temple needs no isolated altar.
I am trying to uncover why I feel this way – where my aversion to altars comes from. I can recognize myself in the traditions of my ancestors without needing to reproduce it, but that’s not all; I can feel there is more here.
What if the sacred doesn’t need a dedicated place to live? And who has been telling me it does? There has been a trend emerging in my posts lately, and I think this is me stepping into my new spiritual identity: I don’t want my relationship with the sacred to be mediated through a prescribed form.
An altar is, in many traditions, a place where something has already been established: these are the sacred objects, this is where they belong, this is how I approach them, this is what I do here. I have moved away from spirituality which requires a stage. An altar belongs to past me: the me eleven years ago who needed to externalize my spiritual identity.
I don’t need to perform my spirituality anymore. My spirituality is quiet. It is personal. It is immensely sacred. And, best of all, it is everywhere. An altar says: This is the sacred place; this is where you return to worship. But now, my whole home says: There is no place here that is separate from the sacred – not even you.
No, it goes even beyond my home. It trickles into my backyard. It lingers in my chicken coop. It surrounds the trail next to my fence. It’s alive in the forest behind my home, flowing with the stream. My “altar” is everywhere. My altar is this existence. My altar is this planet Earth, Gaia, the sky, the trees, the sun. My spirituality has no boundaries, and I find I am continuously turning away from things that try to instill boundaries on this experience.
In the past, I needed these objects to remind me of my spiritual path, and perhaps I don’t anymore. Perhaps that is because I recognize that my spiritual path is living in relationship with experience, with life, with nature, with all existence. The Oneness – it always returns to the Oneness.
Perhaps, as I was reading this chapter on Italian altars, I felt some guilt. But I don’t need to reclaim something that isn’t mine. Just because it belonged to my ancestors doesn’t mean it needs to be mine. My lineage and connection to my Italian roots don’t break just because I don’t replicate the superstition of those before me.
I still have a cornicello around my neck – because it resonates and speaks to me. I chose it. I wear it because something about it feels connected to me, to where I come from, and to what I believe. I don’t need to understand every tradition surrounding it or recreate the practices of the generations before me in order for it to have meaning. I can take what speaks to my spirit and leave what doesn’t. Perhaps that is what reclaiming my heritage actually looks like for me.
There is a strange pressure that can come with returning to your roots. We imagine that reconnecting with our heritage means going backwards, retracing the steps of the people who came before us and recovering what has been lost. But I don’t think that is what I am doing. I don’t want to become my ancestors, but I would love to understand them. I can connect with my heritage without replicating it in my own story.
But I have found that the performative part of spirituality, the part where you invest time in showing everyone else how spiritual you are (the main reason for Italian altars, if we are being honest about it – just like Roman altars back in the day), is just something I don’t have time for anymore. It’s noise. It doesn’t fulfill me as it once may have done. It doesn’t feel authentic to my present path. It doesn’t bring me peace – and right now, all I am seeking in life is peace. Anything on the opposite end of the spectrum slowly gets whittled away…
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to understand the purpose and presence of altars, but every book I have read about it, thus far, really speaks to performance without mentioning the word performance. I am done with performance.
Do you have an altar? What is its purpose? Could the purpose be achieved without an altar? If yes, what is its true purpose? Why do you feel called to an altar? These questions are not to argue, but to understand, so please feel free to comment.
If you wish to support my work further, have a look at all my books, journals, and decks, available here. If you want to work with me as a spiritual healer, check out my services through Seeking Celestial Grace and Awakened Little Souls. I am offering limited spots each month for my Year Ahead Tarot Reading. And: What if the wisdom you need could be found in the spirit of flowers – in a 78-card oracle deck? Have a look at fleurs célestes – a Flower Essence Oracle & Tarot Deck created by yours truly.
xx C
lifeofcloud 